


The Trouble Within

by fairyeyes



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Masturbation, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairyeyes/pseuds/fairyeyes
Summary: The trouble of being a survivor is hardly anyone understands the weight one would carry. The weight of surviving something horrible and indescribable. Freedom, Shiro had to fight for. Power, Shiro had to regain for himself. The tortures he’d been through. The screams and torment echoed in his ears haunted his dreams; his nightmares occurred so many times… he couldn’t tell them from a regular dream anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> (Repost) [Check out my writing Tumblr](http://basic-baka.tumblr.com/)! My first Voltron fic! Honestly, I have no real excuse other than I wanted to imagine Shiro crying so here’s my version of it. If you liked it, please leave kudos/comments!

**The Trouble Within**

The trouble of being a survivor is hardly anyone understands the weight one would carry. The weight of surviving something horrible and indescribable. Freedom, Shiro had to fight for. Power, Shiro had to regain for himself. The tortures he’d been through. The screams and torment echoed in his ears haunted his dreams; his nightmares occurred so many times… he couldn’t tell them from a regular dream anymore.

After training with the other paladins, Shiro wanted them to understand how important teamwork was. The solitude bothered him. He forced himself a leader because they couldn’t stop arguing for a minute. The noises wouldn’t stop and when they did, it was deafening all the same. He couldn’t find relief anywhere alone. He couldn’t be alone as he knew the memories would dredge up expectantly to haunt him.

And yet, he was forced to remember, every night. He was forced to lie in the darkness and to face the numerous echoing thoughts which plagued him since he crashed landed back to Earth. He was utterly alone.

The familiar urges started to boil under his tight clothes. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed of it. He couldn’t do it when he was captured. He couldn’t do it while other terrified eyes watched his every move. While the other aliens were aliens to him, he imagined he was alien to them. He imagined how Shiro himself must’ve looked so strange to them with his built and even the capabilities of his emotions. He himself couldn’t ever imagine himself back in such a horrible situation.

 _Could anyone?_ He thought to himself as he tried to fight his usual urges to fall again. The urges started to bother him a little more and eventually he started to accept the fact that he had to take care of himself. He hated his body at times like this. Ever since he was in that prison, he couldn’t be alone. He didn’t want to be alone and yet now he is. He’s forced to be alone; despite the fact he could leave at any time – to be alone in his thoughts was one place he never wanted to be in. He was scared of his own thoughts, the demons that conjured up from the darkness – they took the form of his troubles. The trouble within him brewed. He didn’t want to revisit it and yet he was forced to be alone. It wasn’t anyone’s fault – he eventually had to face these fears. He had to do it on his own.

Soon, he realized he couldn’t ignore his urges anymore. He was alone. The other members had their own dorms.

He didn’t dare to turn on his lights. He didn’t want to see his pathetic self touching himself. He felt ashamed of himself that he was the one who got away. He was the one who got away. That was something he had to remember and constantly remind himself. The poltergeist of being Champion continuously clung to him. There wasn’t a way it was ever going to let him go.

By now, he had pulled down his pants, along with his underwear, and felt around for his already hardening penis. He wished and prayed he didn’t have these urges, especially within the darkness. He hadn’t touched himself _since_ the ordeal. He wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt this way. It had been too long since he was alone in a room by himself. It had been too long that he’s been truly alone in the room.

He grabbed himself with the prosthetic hand and instantly, he didn’t want to go through with it. He didn’t want to push through but he hurt. He started to physically hurt from his balls. He groaned angrily. He was upset, saddened, and scared. He didn’t understand how his body could call for such a thing at such a time, from such the circumstances. He wouldn’t curse, he’d never curse.

The prosthetic hand felt very inhuman, very unlike him, despite it being his dominant hand. He hesitantly switched. He needed to have that familiar touch on his body from his hand. Even though his left hand wasn’t as comfortable, more awkward than not, it was still **his** hand. It was still his flesh, blood, skin, bones, and it was just **his** feeling. One of the few things that he was able to retain from the capture.

Once he calmed down his rising emotions, he started to stroke himself. It was off-beat, it was awkward, and it felt very good still. His cock immediately stiffened in his hand when he knew it was his own hand, and not a mechanical hand attached to a mechanical arm. Again, he felt ashamed. He felt so good at his own touch and he couldn’t believe he was alive. He was the one who made it home. He was the one who was there and was able to do this to himself. He jerked it as he simultaneously felt so good and felt so bad. Tears started to come out of his grey eyes and as he jerked himself faster, and faster, and the more he jerked himself the more he cried.

He felt so angry at himself for these urges and as flashes of him defeating other living beings, and…

He groaned in pleasure. He felt himself enjoying the pleasure – something that he shouldn’t enjoy. The darkness was a strange comfort. He couldn’t see his tears; he could only feel the hot tears as he could feel himself grow colder and colder. He felt his heartbeat quicken against his chest. He tried to stuff his cries by biting the arm he came to despise but he couldn’t do anything about his tears.

He closed his eyes and reopened them. He didn’t know how long he was in his own head, his own darkness. He could feel himself getting closer. He let out a sob as he jerked himself harder. He needed to come. He needed to let go so he could go on. He needed to come so he can go.

Another sob came out and he had to stop for a moment but as soon as he did, he released more sobs and cries. He opened his eyes to see that a light had snuck in from the bottom of his door. He wondered if it was his imagination – if he even deserved to have the shred of light to enter into his life after what he’s done…

He started to jerk himself off again. He was getting closer. He could feel the buildup so he went faster. Shiro moaned and groaned in between the sobs he forced himself to hold back. Tears still fell and once he came, he squirted all over his hand. Emotions ran high for Shiro as he curled up into a fetal position and silently cried. He could barely feel the come in his hand but freely cried. He felt so ashamed of himself and disgusted. How could he do such a thing?

How could he do such a thing?

Shiro didn’t remember when he fell asleep but when he woke up, he found himself in the same fetal position and finally cleaned up the spunk from his hand as best as he could before the other teammates could wake up.

The trouble within him which brewed the night before dissipated; he didn’t dare mention it to anyone. He had to be strong. Shiro was their black paladin and he had to be their unwavering leader. The trouble within him shouldn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t rise up to bother him.

Shiro will remain strong.


End file.
